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Larkin: Rapscallions
“Oh come on!” Finch threw up his hands, dealing the bottle next to him a glancing blow and setting it to rocking. The table erupted with laughter. He chucked back his shot of liquor and threw two coins onto the heap in the middle of the table. “I hate this stupid game.“ “Because you can't fucking cheat at it.” Larkin grinned and collected the dice and cup. “Not with me around at least.” She shook the cup, making the dice inside rattle, then set it down and took a peek at her throw. “Got a hand.” She looked at Sabac slouching in the chair next to her. Sabac squinted at Larkin, taking a moment to focus. He’d been here even before she and Finch had arrived; a few hours at least, judging from the state he was in. “Uhm.” He tried to right himself in his chair, not quite succeeding. “Naw. Ya’ don’t.” “You sure?” Larkin smirked at him and put a third coin next to the two in front of her. Sabac swayed a bit while chewing on his lip. Then he slammed his hand on the table, making the glasses clink. “Hell, yass! Show us, ya’ show-off.” Larkin lifted the cup, revealing the dice. Two eyes on the one, a single eye on the other. A hand. “Fuck this shit, I’m out.” Sabac mimicked Finch’s outburst from a moment before, then shoved his wager over to the middle of the table. He took up his glass, eyed the pale liquid within, drank it and grimaced. “Greenhand’s whiskey tastes like piss. Why’re we drinkin’ this?” “’cause it’s cheap,” Finch said, reaching out to collect his share of the wager. “And we’re cheap, ” Larkin added. Sabac made an unhappy face and looked around the room. The Greenhand's cellar den was a local favourite among the dockside hoodlums. On a night like this, it could be counted on being at least two thirds full. How that was, Larkin wasn't exactly sure - the owner was a sour prick, the liquor moonshine, the ceiling low and the air smokey. And every now and then it got raided by church patrols. Still, this is where she and Finch somehow ended up most nights after a job. “Y'all know who had good stuff?” Sabac crossed his arms on the table and rested his head on top of them. “Steph the Bowyer.” “Yeah, ‘cept we can’t go to Steph’s place no more, “ Finch said. ”It’s guild territory now.” “Ugh. Like I forgot. Was just sayin' she had good stuff.” He buried his face in the crook of his elbow and huffed. “I liked Steph.” “Cheer up, buddy. You still have us.“ Finch patted him on the back. Sabac grunted. “What's that s'posed to mean? We not good enough for you? Or is it 'cause Larkin's not as pretty?” Finch laughed and poked her shoulder with a thumb. Larkin gave an indignant hrumph and crossed her arms. “Or maybe he's sick of looking at someone with a face like spilled tomato stew.” “Hah! Pretty fuckin' bold comin' from someone with a head like a purple pumpkin.” Finch turned to face her squarely, reaching over for the bottle without looking. “Fuck off. Only half of my face is purple. Other half is... uhm...” Larkin frowned trying to come up with a word and held her glass out to Finch. “Sweet potato?” He offered, pouring. “The hell is that?” “It’s a vegatab-, vegib-” Finch scowled and licked his lips. “Vege-ta-ble.” He accentuated the syllables by tapping a knuckle onto the table. “Like a potato, just sweet.” “Never heard of that.” “You should try some. It’s tasty.” He filled his own glass and knocked it back, shuddering at the aftertaste. “Not sure I wanna eat something that looks like my face.” “Hm...” Finch looked like he had to debate that in his head first, then said, “Fair.” “Aw, shit.” Larkin pointed at Sabac, who in the meantime had lost all body tension and was sleeping with his face on the table. “He’s out cold.” She poked his leg with her foot but got no reaction. “So much for another round of dice.” Finch patted his vest down and produced a deck of cards. “Wanna play?” “Hell, no. You're a fuckin' cheat at cards.” “It's not cheating. It's a better way of playing” Finch made a hurt face but put the deck away again. “Hm.” Larkin leaned back in her chair surveying the cellar room. She wasn't ready to leave yet and looking for some entertainment. “Heh. Finch, watch this,” she said with a smirk and pointed at a table a few paces away. A group of orcs and half-orc were drinking and playing some bone game. “Oi Watzschek!” Larkin hollered at them. One large orc with carved tusks turned to look at her. She waved. “Come on ‘ere for a second.” He seemed a bit confused but got up and lumbered over. “What is it?” “Heard about how you and your gang roughed up those guild rats from up the hill.” Larkin poured some of the would-be whiskey into a taller cup and pushed it toward him. “That was some fine work there.” “Huh. Thanks I guess. Appreciate it.” The orc took the cup and lifted it in a toast, then turned to walk back to his table. As he passed by the door leading to the storeroom, Larkin snapped her fingers. It swung open and slammed into Watzschek’s face. The cup flew out of his hand, spilling liquor all over him. The other orcs at Watzschek’s table hooted with laughter and turning around, Larkin even saw the Greenhand snigger behind his bar. Finch snorted into his glass so hard, he lost grip of it. “Oi, the fuck you thinkin’, you lil’ tar-blooded bitch?!” Oh, shit. Watzschek pivoted with a sway, one hand covering his nose and flung the cup back in Larkin's direction. She ducked her head and the cup shattered against something behind her. She scrambled up from her chair and, vaulting over the table, escaped the orc's fist as it closed around the empty air where she had been. The remaining glasses and coins on top clattered to the ground around her. “Ho! No reason to get rough!” She yelled, still giddy, and peeked above the table's edge. Watzschek's face was about as read as a grey orc's face could be and he was shoving chairs out of the way to get at her. “I gunna rip off that tail o' yours!” He shouted. “Make me a nice new belt!” Other patrons scattered out of the way or moved in closer to watch, some of them handing coins over to each other. Getting the bets ready for a good brawl. Next to Larkin, Finch had gotten to his feet as well and was trying to get into the big man's way. “Hey, why don't you pick someone your size, eh?” he yelled at the orc two feet taller than him. Watzschek roared and kicked a chair in their general direction. Finch picked up a cup from the floor and returned the orc's curtesy. It missed and hit one of Watzschek's friends over at the other table, much to the amusement of her companions. ** Larkin could have fought back when they dragged her out of the cellar but to be honest: what would’ve been the point of that? The Greenhand's bouncers were not to be messed with, everyone knew that. And she did not have the motivation to anyway. This way, thrown across the shoulder of one of them, she at least didn’t have to walk. It still hurt when the guy unceremoniously dumped her onto the cobblestones and she landed on her ass. Finch was flung down next to her, face first. “Ouch, fuckin’ hell,” he muttered and rolled over. A moment later, the limp body of Sabac hit him and he went sprawling again. “Greenhand says you’s not to show ya mugs in here again for at least two weeks,” the bouncer who had carried Larkin out so lovingly said. “Got it?” “Yeah, got it.” Larkin stumbled to her feet and bent down to drag Sabac off of Finch. Shit, when had the guy gotten so fat? “And what about you?” The woman who had hurled Finch out pointed at him. “You heard him?” “Ugh, sure.” He draped Sabac’s arm around his shoulder and heaved him up. “Two weeks. Whatever.” “That was fun,” Larkin said when the door had slammed shut again. Finch snorted. “Yeah. You saw his face?” “Sure did. Totally worth it.” ”Yeah. Hey, I’m sorry I said your head looked like a pumpkin. Or a potato, I guess.” “Eh, it's okay.” Larkin hung Sabac's other arm across her shoulders and together they started walking. “You don’t look like stew either.” Finch was silent for a second, then said, “I said I’m sorry for saying so. Not that it’s not true.” Larkin kicked at his ankle. Her partner flinched and with a yelp, lost his balance. They crashed to the ground together, the weight of unconscious Sabac dragging them both down. “Aw, hell,” Finch muttered. “Let's not let this become a habit.” He got to his feet and picked up their friend once more. “That was on you.” Larkin took Sabac's right arm again and looked around the empty alley. “Let's get Sabac somewhere he can sleep it off.” “I know where he lives.” Finch nodded his head in the general direction. “Alright, let's get him there. And then let's find something to bite, I'm hungry.” “Sabac's gotta have something at his place. He owes us anyway.” “Totally.” Category:Vignettes Category:Larkin